As I was flipping through the idea file in my brain for what to write on for the word season, my computer was flipping through pictures via my screen saver. This image surfaced on my computer:
Ella and my endlessly amazing Grandma Carol.
And this scripture surfaced in my mind:
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
Ecclesiastes 3: 1-2
I've mentioned before that my Grandma was sunshine in human form. She embodied all that is good in this world. She has been on my mind.
When we had Thanksgiving at her home, we would often arrive the night before and stay at her house. I would wake up and help her get everything ready. I would set the table, wash and peel potatoes with her, clean the house, make the Jello, make the clam dip or just keep her company as she went about her preparations. Each year she would vocalize a question wondering how she ever did this without me there to help. She would carry on about how it was much funner with me there. I know she managed just fine in my absence, but her praise bolstered my self-worth and earmarked my existence as one that was worthy and absolute.
I lived a season of my life with my incredible grandmother's direct influence and then, as they inevitably do, the seasons changed leaving a vacant hole where once had been her welcoming home and heart... the physical form of she.
I miss her so much. In her season that she filled to capacity with devotion, respect and generosity of spirit, she planted herself into the heart and soul of every person who was privy to her influence. She exuded love and acceptance to all she encountered. She smiled before she said 'hello' on the phone and you could hear her smile in every nuance of conversation. She always increased the value of anything or anyone she touched, and her love was never conditional, but unequivocal and endless.
And, as there was a season for her life, so there is a season for me to "pluck up that which is planted". She planted these gifts for me to nourish and share, a lesson taught in each memory.
If the world could only have a few more Grandma Carols in it there would be more smiles and more laughter. More joy and more acceptance. More tongue bitting and more words of encouragement. More grace and more beauty. More sunshine in human form.
I love you and miss you, Grandma. Thank you for the gift that your life was.